The Road I Travelled
by Hanni98
Summary: What has impacted the lives of Beck, Tori, Jade, Cat, Robbie, Trina, and Andre to make them who they are? What struggles have they faced on becoming themselves: Changing themselves for fame; trying to get noticed? Everything. Every damn thing.
1. Perfectly Me

**Okay, so you decided to click on this? Good for you!**

**This is a one-shot story based on the missing moments, the things that weren't explained, and the things you've ALWAYS wondered about Victorious.**

**I have a couple of ideas, but if you have something you've always wanted an incredibly, imaginably person (such as myself) to bring to life (with words, people, don't get too excited: P) just tell me in your encouraging reviews!**

**{Just to let you know some parts will be a bit dark with minimal swearing}**

**The First couple chapters are going to be about:**

**OoO DRUM ROLE!OoO**

**How the Victorious cast came to be the way they are today **

**(If anyone gets bored of this just tell me…)**

**Smile,**

**Hanni {98}**

**Quote{s} of the Chapter:**

**The only reason people get lost in thought is because it's unfamiliar territory**

**"Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring."**

**Chapter One- Perfectly Me**

**Cat Valentine**

Often people ask me if I'm okay, they treat me as if I'm a mentally sick, insane, crazy little girl.

I'm not.

They think just because my brother has been arrested seven times, always on some sort of pills, and doing the weirdest things that I'm like that too.

I'm not.

They think because I seen my innocent mother murdered in front of me by my drunken father that I'm messed up.

It's not like that, but I suppose it is.

Sure, I have red velvet coloured hair, and stand out enough that it doctors think it earns a place in the hospital. That's the problem: nobody ever thinks; they just think they know.

The words that echo in my mind every day, every moment always make me want to be different, to stand out, and in this life and dream I have; the dream of wanting to be a famous singer, it's the most important part of the package that will make you noticeable; the quality to stand out.

"Normal's boring"

And that's what gets me through the monthly hair dye appointments to keep my hair so red.

It's not like I'm acting because I am like this. I am childish and lovable, but nobody actually looks deep enough to figure out why.

They just think they know everything: nobody ever thinks.

I used to have brown hair. I also used to have two loving parent, a caring brother, and a little baby brother.

I used to have a perfect life, a perfect family, I was perfectly happy, but three years ago my world was too easily flipped upside down.

My father used to be a sophisticated man until my mother gave birth to a son. He said that the little bastard wasn't his, that she had him with another man. Three years ago, when I was ten going on eleven my father started drinking. It used to be a pack of bear on the weekend, but now it turned into dead drunk by 10:30 on a school night.

During the horrifying period between after supper and 10:30 was the time when my father walked unsteadily around the house threatening his family. He beat my poor mother; you could hear her excruciating screams from the hall closet where my brother and I hid. My father called us names, gave us bruises and cuts and threatened to kill us in the worst ways.

I never understood why my mother didn't leave him. I knew she hated him, but I suppose hate and love are too strong of feelings and she got blindly mixed up in them somewhere along the way. She stuck y him, letting him treat her like the worst kind of garbage, letting her three children watch from the side lines, getting taught how to act, how to be, and most of all how to forget.

He didn't teach us well enough because I can still remember that frigid January night.

The night he crossed the line:

"_Dammit, Mary!" Gregory Valentine hissed from his bed of empty beer cans that where laying on the sofa, "Get that fucked up bastard out of my sight. I can smell the devil on him! Get me another beer!"_

_Sofia Holt-Valentine looked up from the spot on the rocking chair with her 19 months old son. She was covered in black, purple, and yellow bruises, she had cuts up and down her arms and legs, and her eyes looked like life ran over and over her and wouldn't let her call 'mercy'._

"_Yes, Gregory." She said in a paper thin voice, cuddling her baby boy to her chest. She put the baby down in the cradle by the front door to get up and get the poison that wrecked this family._

_She wondered where her older children where located. She didn't know that they could see everything that happened. She wondered every night where they were, but never wanted to draw more attention to them in case her husband would think she was trying to take them away. She wondered why her children came back with wet eyes, bruised and cuts when they spent quality time with their father, but most of all she wondered why the hell she was still here._

_The obvious answer would be to protect her children and herself from the horrific promises her husband had made if she decided get up and leave, but still she had hope the Gregory Valentine would become the man he used to be, the loving father, the romantic and caring husband. _

_It hasn't happened yet._

_Both parents where oblivious to the two children that sat by and watched their constant battles through open eyes that where hidden by the tall safe door of the hall closet with the two little holes that looked like they were carved with a butter knife._

_As she reached to open the fridge a petrified wailing noise came from the living room, her hands froze thinking that her husband was watching a noisy television program, so she took the beer out of the fridge, her hands shaking, afraid of what she would find in the living room._

_As she slowly opened the kitchen doors, the words cold respectable words 'Here is your drink' never quite made it off her tongue._

_Sitting on the now blood soaked coach was her husband bent over a little bleeding baby with beautiful blue eyes that where looking around in horror, trying to make sense of feelings he was getting. His father bent over him holding a blood soaked knife._

"_You little bastard!" his father screamed, holding the knife above his head, "This'll teach your mother not to hop into bed so readily!"_

_The baby started screaming, a sound that drove the mind of a boy in the closet crazy. His little sister on top of him, trying to hold him down, so he wouldn't go out of there safe place and try to stand up to their father. Catherina Valentine was sobbing quietly, laying on top of her struggling brother, listening to the sounds of glass breaking, the screams of her mother, the cries of her little brother that just last night she held close to her chest singing him a lullaby. _

_The cries stopped, screaming and swearing started. The little girl and the little boy in the closet crawled into a little ball beside each other; scared of what they'll find when they opened the doors._

_The screaming started again except this time it replayed over and over again in their own heads, the screams of their baby brother and their mother that just stopped after one last cry and then a bang; then silence._

_Horrible, horrible silence that meant their father had committed another murder tonight, and that tomorrow he'd be in the back yard digging two graves._

_A mother and baby boy would join his collection of mistakes under the unforgiving Earth to rot away without anyone knowing or caring except the children in the closet._

**Okay, so what do you think? **

**If you guys review I'll go on and do Jade or Robbie.**

**The next chapter will be up in a couple days.**

**read the two quotes at the top and then read it again…it'll make sense! **

**Remember to REVIEW!**

**H98**


	2. A Blood Soaked Kiss

**Hey, Thank you so much for the people that reviewed or alerted! You are AWESOME just because you did that!**

**This next one is going to look at Jade as a kid. I personally think her childhood was extremely messed up, so I guess we'll see what I decide to write (to be honest I don't even know).**

**You guys have made me all nervous that the rest is going to suck because you were like "It's Perfect!" and all that. (Thank you so much for that! It was so sweet!)**

**Okay, so this is the quote thing:**

**Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life, but define yourself."**

**You're Awesome,**

**Hanni {98}**

**Chapter 2- A Blood Soaked Kiss**

**Jade West**

I've been defined as a psycho serial killer, the Goth bully, or just simply the mean girl. People think because I dress a certain way it makes me a heartless bitch with no feelings.

It's not like that at all.

Some days I sit in my room, curled up in a tight ball, and cry my eyes out. I cry because my wicked life is almost literally falling apart:

My boyfriend, Beck Oliver, dumped me so he could kiss up to Tori Vega, my mother is drunk half the day, and the other half swearing at me and telling me how much I suck. My father was a drug dealer, but he does dead now.

I wake up every morning to my mother asking me if I want a 'vitamin' for breakfast, if I want to go out on the deck and have a cigarette with her, if I want to stay home from school and get high with her, or if I want to put some vodka in a water bottle to take to school.

The morning is the only time she's human, but then the poison takes her.

I've always said 'no', but it's becoming harder and harder every day. Some days when I'm in the fetal position in my room I think over and over again in my head:

"What's the point?"

What's the point in getting up?

What's the point in saying no? Maybe I can lose myself in the bottles of pills and liquids my mother has down stairs.

What's the point in living?

Three years ago, I started cutting myself. I don't really know why, but it felt good. I couldn't take the emotional pain I got every day from my mother, but I almost liked the physical pain I could from the bloody lines the razors trace down my body.

I got another title that day: psycho serial killer, the Goth bully, the mean girl, but now I was a cutter.

I felt like myself in those moments. I felt good that I was hurting myself that I deserved this pain because my mother told me I was a waste of space, a disappointment in the ugliest ways, but that only made me want to please her more.

I remember the first time my mother went at me, the first collection of bruises before she drank herself to death, or so she thought.

"_Jayden!" Erin West screamed from the kitchen table where bottles of vodka and whisky lay on their sides, empty._

_A just turned twelve year old Jade west walked _**cautiously**_ down the stairs, "Yes, Ma'am?"_

_Jayden's mother had forced it into her head long ago that she was not to address her mother as 'mama', 'mommy', or 'mom'. She was to call this women 'Master' or 'ma'am'. Erin West had literally beaten the habit out of her daughter._

"_Get your freakin' father. I need to have a word with him." She sneered._

_The dark haired girl new by now that having a word meant taking a knife to the man she slept with and bullying him into doing a job for her, or taking the blame for something horrendous the grown woman had done._

_Little Jade West walked slowly to her father's office. She hated that room; safes filled up with money her father had gotten through illegal business, his desk filled with contacts for the people who wanted to his drugs to please themselves, her father sitting in the chair drinking whisky and smoking marijuana. _

"_Master," the little girl said quietly, "your wife wants to see you."_

_His face grew pale. He may be the man of the house, but Jade West knew who was really in control: the bitch in the kitchen._

_Jade didn't wait for her father to say something to her because he normally doesn't, so she scampered from the cold office and sat in her room above the kitchen, her ear pressed to the register._

_A quiet feminine voice came out of the heating register, "Get rid of that bitch upstairs. She knows too much."_

_Jade felt a hand grip her heart when she realized they were talking about her._

"_Erin, she's our daughter."_

_A loud smack came from the vent, "I don't give a damn who she thinks she is. She knows too much."_

'_I know too much about the drugs,' Jade thought._

_A cold silence held out for a moment until the woman said, "Get rid of her."_

"_How?"_

"_Kill her, you idiot!" the half drunk woman screeched._

_Footsteps sounded._

_Jade West felt a cold terror grip her heart. My parents created me, now they're going to kill me. A tear trickled down from her jade coloured eyes._

_Strangely enough, she wanted to die. She was tired of living in the cold house, always smelling of sadness and alcohol. She was sick of her mother who was always saying how she was a disappointment, that she was ugly, horrible, and the devil spawn. _

_That night the girl lay awake under her covers, waiting for the door to creak open and a dark figure to come into the room and stab her to death._

_It never came, but by morning her father was dead in his bed beside his wife._

_Dead because even though he was never a very good parent, he could never kill his daughter because he loved her too much. _

_And that sent a strange feeling through Jade West's heart. _

_She never knew how to deal with affection, so she became the Jade who loves through violence, the one who dresses in dark close because anything lighter than gray doesn't belong in her life, and she formed an identity around how her parents told her to act._

_She went to bed every night in tears, holding the sadness she felt every day until she was at home where no one could see her because nobody cares._

_Jade West never got kissed good night; the only kiss she ever got was the cold surface of a razor traveling up and down her arm giving her a blood soaked kiss._

_Crying tears of blood down her arm._

_One cut at a time._

**Okay, that was really hard to write! **

**Cat's was so easy, but this one it was hard explaining why Jade dresses and acts how she does.**

**Thank you again for the reviews, and I love getting your feed back!**

**Remember to Review!**

**Hanni {98}**


	3. Pulchritudinous

**Okay, thank you so much for reviewing, alerting, and favoring! **

**This is in Beck's POV, and I really don't know how this is going to turn out! **

**It stars all mushy, but keep reading because the atmosphere changes…**

**Quotes:**

**You don't appreciate what you have until it's gone, and then you want it back**

**You may hate what you have, but then your life is flipped upside down… Suddenly you're doing all that you can to make your life as it was before**

**What doesn't kill you makes you stronger**

**-Kelly Clarkson**

**Smile,**

**Hanni {98}**

**Chapter 3:****Pulchritudinous**

**Beck Oliver**

Everybody thinks I'm good looking, hot, and sexy. The girls that come pounding on my door, trying to take a swing at me because of my looks; every single one of my ex-girlfriends only went out with me because of some psychological prize. I guess they think that it makes them popular to toy with a guys feeling to get points from the popular girls.

I've held onto my relationship with Jade West like a shield keeping my admirers away from me, but our lines broke and the enemy strolled in.

Out of all the girls that dared to talk to me, my at-the-time-girlfriend zeroed in on one particular girl: Tori Vega.

To this day, I haven't figured out why. Tori's pretty, but she isn't the most beautiful girl that I've know, she doesn't stand out in a crowed of girls…unless you count those cheek bone…, but something about her makes people stop and stare at her.

And stare they do… stare I do.

I say I'm an open book, that I have nothing to hide, but I do. I'm afraid of what people will think of me, how people will think of my family.

Nobody really thinks how quick a good reputation can be harmfully destroyed. One little thing sneaks out or you say something that you shouldn't: you're life is over.

At Hollywood Arts there is big jealously problems, people go after one another, sabotage them, ruin your enemy's reputation and soon all the record labels, directors, and dance groups know all of your darkest secrets, and then your reputation you spent your life on is knocked down, as quick as when a wrecking ball strikes a building.

That's why I try to keep my mouth shut, all of those cruel secrets might come bubbling out, spilling down into someone's ear.

It never used to be like this, I really did used to be a open book, but my family left me on a shelf and stopped reading me, and never tried to flip a page, still stuck on one page that they have burned into their mind, and as heartbreaking as it is: there is no going back, ever.

Before I fall asleep at night, I think of the two weeks that have been replaying in my head since I stopped and thought for once; remembering the adrenaline that ran thick through my veins, the blood rushing through my body, the person that seemed to take control of me during the fights, and it was like I would wake up and I would just feel one thing: regret.

But then my new world would whisk me off, and I'd go back to that crazy fifteen and a half year old boy who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut.

I try to forget, I try to pretend I never said any of that, or did any of that, but it's burned in the back of my brain, branded to my body, stuck in my eyes. I really try to forget, but sometimes the terrible things you do are to awful that you can't, as hard as you try.

"_Beck," a dark haired Goth girl whispered, "I have something to show you,"_

_A young boy in the stage where he didn't want to referred to as a 'boy', but was too young to be called a 'man' looked up to see his first real girlfriend towering over him, "What is it, Jade?"_

"_You'll see," she smirked, "just make sure your stupid parents don't see you leave."_

_James and Brooke Oliver didn't like their son's girlfriend, but Jayden deeply despised the pair as well. They said their son was losing his mind over a girl, changing into someone he wasn't. They didn't like it, they didn't want it._

"_What time?" Beck said curiously, not aware of the danger and complications that were about to enter his young life, "Where?"_

_Jayden smirked, "Just be ready around 2," _

"_In the morning?" he asked, wondering what his girlfriend did with her time._

"_Yes, stupid!" she cried._

"_Okay," _

Beck Oliver didn't know how easy it is to say 'okay', and how hard it was to take it back. He didn't know how his paradisiacal life could change so rapidly. He didn't know when it was time to say no, didn't know how to.

…

_It started out as a game; the mindless stealing, the mind games he played with himself, the multi coloured pills he took, consuming a couple cans of beer a night, coming home at three or four in the morning sporting a new set of injuries. It wasn't until Beck's sixteenth birthday that he discovered the some games weren't worth playing._

"_Beck," his mothered called at him from on the other side of his basement room door, "Can I come in?"_

_Beck opened his dark eyes with equally dark circles underneath to see his disaster of a room: empty alcohol bottles where lying discarded on the floor, his drugs he's been taking for a couple months have already pulled his world to revolve around them, empty cigarette case where laying on tables with a pile of smoked cigarettes piled up in and around his over flowing garbage can._

_It wasn't a room he wanted his mother to see, "Um, not right now!" _

"_Beckett James Oliver, I would like to come in! Can you please open this door?"_

_That was his mother: a quick spark to ignite, but an incredibly slow period of time for the ember's to die down._

"_Um… sorry, mom! It's kind of messy, and I really don't think you want to see my…stuff…all thrown around my room, and I don't think you want to see it, so I'll just come out and talk-,"_

_It was too late, his mother had already opened the door and was looking around like she couldn't believe her own eyes, "What in the…"_

"_Mom, I can explain! It's not what you think! I don't know-," the sixteen year old boy stammered, looking for an excuse to explain something that's quite obvious on how it happened._

"_It's exactly what I think!" she yelled at him, a hand almost covering her eyes like she wishes she could un-see the whole matter, "When your father hears of this...this…situation! Oh, I bet it was your girlfriend! That little…,"_

"_Mom…" he said weekly._

"_Oh, don't you 'mom' me!" she yelled, "James Oliver! Get up here right now!"_

_The young man turned pale, glancing at the door, afraid of the man that would walk through the door, and find his secret life laid out in front of them for the entire world to see._

_Thundering footsteps thudded up the stairs, "Brooke! What is it?"_

"_It's that boy! The boy we thought we knew!" she shrieked, reaching an end to her sanity._

_My father looked one look at my room and just lost it, "Get out of my house, boy. If you wanna live here, you gotta respect the rules! Get out!"_

_I scrambled from my bed, jamming bottles and pills into my back pack, a change of clothes, my cell phone, my laptop and my life._

_I just packed my entire life up. It's that easy._

_I ran down the stairs, sprinting onto the streets, into the back ally that has become so accustomed to me._

"_Welcome back, baby boy." A deep mellow voice called, "Welcome to the life." _

That was my life for about a year, a year of running from the world, from my troubles; I took what I wanted because I didn't think I'd have a future. I ran away from my troubles until my troubles found me. I was dying inside. I was drinking myself to death.

One day, i just stopped. It was like a struggle from within. The devil on my left shoulder telling me to drink, the angel I never could be on my right giving me strength to stop, to reclaim my sanity.

I showed up at my parent's house with an RV. I parked it in the drive way, so that i was technically rejoining their family, but i could still follow my own rules because it's my roof, my rules.

I've learned the tough way that your decisions come back and haunt you. I'm just afraid that they're going to come back and ruin any dream of my future, that if i see drugs I'll start up again, if i see a bottle of vodka I'll decide that alcohol can solve all of my problems.

I never did get strength from drugs and alcohol, but when I realized it never made me strong I had a panic attack. It was like I realized i have nothing to live on. It, actually, made me weak that my life went on around a couple pills. I was never strong, but now i have to try to find strength among my friends, among my family, among myself.

I still don't know how to be strong.

I am weak.

**Sorry for the wait. I took some music exams and if any of you have ever taken them they are terribly exhausting.**

**Remember to review!**

**Hanni {98}**


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